Pop

There he was, waiting alone in the dark alleyway. I had been waiting for this moment for seven days, one whole week. I skipped merrily down the alleyway, my pockets rattling with coins. I gave him 50p and he gave it to me - the perfect red balloon, the sun dappled all over it, making it glint when the wind turned it. I ran out of the alleyway, my hand clutched around the string.

                                                                                         Rosie, Year Seven

The Pot Full of Noverything

I sigh happily and breathe deeply

As the scent of the air fills my nose

The bubbling colours are darkened

As I add the black from a rose.

The bubbling suddenly stops

In comes the stillness from a jumping bean

Then the colours regain their brightness

When I add what a blind person's seen.

The liquid turns a rosy pink

As  I add the soft heart of a killer

And the pot doubles up with laughter -

Adding comedy from a thriller.

The liquid turns every colour

But no colour at all

Then the pot is full of everything

And absolutely nothing at all.

                                                                                      Ruth, Year Seven